It isn't easy being a fish in a bag
when everyone expects you to be fresh.
It's like pretending you don't have a comedown
off the back of a three day sesh.
You should have eaten me straight away
when I was at my best.
Any forthcoming appraisal of my codly calibre
will not be a fair and true test.
When I emerged from the boiling vat
an oily prince upon the counter was born.
Erect, golden and glistening I lay,
halogen illuminated perfection my form.
But you wrapped me up in paper
condemned my crispness to wither folorn.
It is a crime to do this to such a fine fish.
For my former delicious glory how I mourn.
And how I suffered such indignity
when you ran with me in a bag down the lane.
I was shaken and thrown as I weeped oily tears.
My ideal batter to fish flesh texture ration will never be the same!
When at last you unwrapped me from my coffin
to survey what a shredded mess this fallen god had become.
The damage was less than expected
Combined with my soggy chip brethren and unbranded tartar, I was still an extremely tasty one.
So what lessons can be learned from the tale
of the fish that was bagged but still tasted great?
Note that even battered gods can take a battering.
A fish in a bag is better than none - make no mistake. read more